Page 42 of Saving Grace
“If you aren’t working out, get out,” I holler before stepping closer to Leila Grace, taking in her sweat-soaked shirt and loose hair.
She never boxes with her hair down.
As the bodies of the town nosey asses disperse, I study Leila’s movements.
Leila generally has one of two reactions to a panic attack. The more common reaction is when her breathing becomes labored, heart pounding, vision blurs. If she doesn’t do it on her own, someone usually guides her to the ground and helps her place her head between her knees while trying different grounding techniques.
The other reaction, the one I’ve only witnessed once before, is like she’s physically fighting the panic.
It isn’t obvious at first glance; Leila throws punch after punch into the bag, never flinching at the contact even as it sways unsteadily. No wonder no one else noticed it. But watching her more closely, I notice the vacant look in Leila’s eyes. The bare fists and the uncontrolled pattern from her dominant hand give away her building panic.
Stepping up to Jace as he watches her with pain-filled eyes, I try to determine the best way to handle this. The last thing I want is for her to shut down after we’ve made so much progress. Maybe it’s residual from that night forever ago when Declan caught us together in the middle of a panic attack, but I feel like my reaction to one of any kind could kick us right back to that hotel room. And I doubt we’d be so lucky as to survive unscathed and heal from that nightmare a second time.
“I tried talking to her. Was worried touching her would make things worse,” Jace says, gesturing to his giant frame. Everyone who was around ten years ago remembers how massive Leila’s stepfather was. The piece of trash deadbeat.
“Probably for the best. Depending on what triggered this one, your size might have made it worse.”
Slowly, I move toward her, like approaching an untouched colt. “Leila,” I call gently.
Her fists never slow as she punches with no regard for herself. Pure emotion—pure adrenaline—powers her swings. An occasional grunt or harsh breath are her only sounds as I call her name again.
I’m right on her without her awareness, waiting just outside her swing radius before touching my hand to her shoulder. I am fully prepared for the fist that swings around and lands in my palm. Her entire body seizes at the contact, shoulders drawing up, breath catching in her lungs. Her focus is zeroed in on our hands, but her eyes are vacant, trapped in her memories.
I’ve been present for more than a few of her panic attacks over the years, though none were in public. Glancing around, I ensure no one is sticking their nose where it doesn’t belong before turning complete focus back to the girl in my arms.
Slowly, so as not to startle her while at the same time hoping to bring her back, I cup her cheek and lean down to rest my forehead against hers. “What’s goin’ through your mind, sunshine?”
Her lower lip quivers as a single tear slides down her cheek. I wipe it away with the pad of my thumb before pulling her tight to my chest, rubbing small circles along her spine, willing her to let me in.
The deep sigh mixed with a choked sob has me bringing her in closer for a squeeze before guiding her to the door. “Let’s get out of here and clean up those split knuckles. Then we can see about some pizza and strawberry ice cream.”
I maneuver her into my truck before leaning over her to secure the seatbelt. Her hands shake as they grip her thighs, breathsstill more shallow than I’d like. As safely as I can, I rush us to the little house behind my parents’ place.
This isn’t how I’d planned on introducing her to this place. I’d hoped to take her to dinner then slowly make our way from room to room as she pointed out all the changes she’d make. Instead, Leila doesn’t acknowledge the wraparound porch, the yellow rocking chairs, or the baby swing.
As I lead her through the front door and into the kitchen, she settles on one of the stools by the counter. I set about pulling my first aid supplies from the cabinet above the sink before making my way back over to her, thankful that I’d finally moved in over the weekend.
When she turns her head to avoid looking at me, I squat down until I’m in her line of sight. “You feel like talkin’ about whatever just happened?” I dab the alcohol wipe along her knuckles, cleaning the specks of blood away. The quick flinch of her hand as the wipe does its job is the only indication she’s still here with me, her gaze fixed on the scrapes that are sure to bruise.
One of her shoulders eventually shrugs to her ear as she glances away again. “Just needed to burn off some energy. It’s fine. I’m fine.” When she finally meets my gaze again, her beautiful eyes are dull, as void of emotion as her voice.
As I smear ointment over her knuckles, I say, “You’re still a terrible liar, Leila Grace. When you want to give honesty a go, let me know.” I do my best to keep the sound of frustration out of my tone, but some of it still slips in. I have no right to the feeling. She has no obligation to share anything with me. I’m beyond lucky that she shares our daughter.
We’ve finally started to get our lives back on track, and here she is shutting me out all over again. She’s better than this, stronger than this, and every part of me wants her to admit that things are in factnotokay.
I sigh, crossing my arms and leaning my hip against the counter. She stares, her facial expression stoic.
At least she’s looking at me.
Frustration simmers under my skin, but I refuse to acknowledge it, shoving it down and softening my voice. “You don’t have to tell me what’s up, but own up to not being okay. There’s no shame in it. We’ve all got shit tearin’ us up.”
When her shoulders hunch forward and her chin dips to her chest, I’ve had enough. I’m not mad at Leila. Never at her.
No, I’m angry at the trauma she still faces day in and day out.
“Look at me, Leila,” I say, voice as gentle as I can make it. “Let me see that sun shine through your eyes.”
As misty eyes meet mine, Leila finally takes in a deep breath. It isn’t as steady as I’d like, but it’s progress.
